
U77r%%% 



o 
o 
2; 
o 



Title 






Imprint 



Book 



131H SF^SilI 



THE 



« 






&sm««»2^sr8#-£*F<s>3fc$r 



BY JULIA H. KINNEY 

Sheshequin, Pa. 



HUDSON: 

PRINTED BY ASHBEL STODDARD. 

1837. 




[ had been nearly a year settled in the city of 
Z. before 1 became acquainted at the house of 
Deacon Daniel Cummings, although he was the 
very corner Stone of our outward temple, having 
built the Meeting House at his own entire expense, 
been chiefly instrumental in getting up revivals, 
by which our members were generally obtained, 
establishing Sabbath Schools, and rooting out of 
our councils every weed of heresy that dared 
show its head ; or, in other words, in crushing 
with an iron heel, the monster Liberality. And 
no man was ever better calculated to carry his 
points in all religious undertakings, than the good 
Deacon. In the first place, he was very wealthy. 
This gave great solidity to his opinions with the 
multitude. Secondly, he possessed a persevering 
zeal, which if not according to knowledge, was 
deprived, on that account, of none of its fervency. 
And this principle, set ill motion by early preju- 
dice, thatgreatmoving wheei in thegrand structure 
of fanaticism, made him a very Sampson among 
the Philistines of Z. None could gainsay or 
resist him. if he said, 'let there be a revival,' 
there was a revival, if he said ' the Saybrook 
Platform is without fault or blemish,' where was 
the being rash enough to contradict him r Such 
was Deacon Cummings, and with my then views 
and feelings, he was to me, as to otheis, an object 
of wonder and admiration. 






I could hardly account to myself how I had 
resisted so many urgent solicitations, to visit his 
beautiful residence, which was only one mile 
from town. One reason I believe was, that being 
young in the ministry, it took up considerable of 
my time to prepare lectures suitable for the ears 
- of a large and somewhat difficult audience. Anoth- 
er was, (though I was too proud to own it even 
to myself,) that Mr. Cummings was always accom- 
panied to church by a couple of beautiful daughters, 
twins, and being no ' ladies' man' at ail, as the 
phrase is, I heartily dreaded a tete-a-tete with 
these, lovely girls, although one of them was a 
member of my church. But the Deacon became 
at length importunate, and would hear excuses 
no longer. I accordingly found myself one 
morning stepping very courageously into my 
Sulky for a drive to Three Hills, as the Deacon's 
residence was called, from the circumstance of 
three very singular hills, something, of the form 
of pyramids, shooting up within a short distance 
of the central building. It would puzzle any one 
to find either in nature or imagination, a lovelier 
spot than Three Hills. Its numerous buildings 
were arranged in such a manner as to give it, at 
a distance, the appearance of a little villa shut 
out from the commotions of a wicked world — a 
sweet Paradise for humble and pious hearts. I 
involuntarily checked my horse as we peached an 
eminence from whence I could enjoy an uninter- 
rupted prospect, for I was then one of nature's 
most ardent worshippers. 

The hills were nearly in the centre of a large 
and rather irregular plain, whose borders were 
skirted with a variety of handsome forest trees, 
which the woodsman had probably wanted heart 



4 
io destroy. The loftiest of these prominences 
was crowned with a clump of beautiful cedars-, 
whose lofty tops seemed a resting place for the 
elouds. The second in height had nothing remark- 
able in its appearance, save a perpendicular ledge 
of blood-colored rock, whose dark cavities were 
nearly obscured by tendrils of the ivy and wild 
grape, But the last, and smallest, possessed 
some peculiarities upon which the eye could not 
fail of resting in sweet,though sorrowful contempla- 
tion. A narrow road communicating with the broad 
gravel walk which led to the mansion, and shaded 
each side with thrifty young locusts, wound round 
this little hill until it reached the summit and 
opened a small enclosure, containing two plain 
marble grave stones, and a white cottage, which 
stood, like Alciphron's love-bower and tomb, side 
by side. A~short distance from this repository of 
the 'loved and Tost/ were seen two large and 
flourishing trees, though of very different appear- 
ance. The one being a dense weeping willow, 
whose tearful branches waved silently above 
the sleepers; the other a lofty fir,, with its dark 
arms, like the turrets of a watch-tower, ilung. 
aloft to the skies. An excellent device, thought 
I — a beautiful emblem of the sorrow which clings 
to the buried dust, and the hope which pointeth- 
to heaven. A beautiful emblem of death and 
immortality, I could have lingered long upon 
this interesting scene, and the reflections it natur- 
ally suggested, but the Deacon had seen me with 
his spy-glass from the window, and was already 
opening the gate for my admittance. He ex- 
pressed much pleasure at beholding me, and soon 
engrossed me so much in conversation, that I had 
hardly an opportunity of glancing at the beautiful 



5 
arbors, grottos and artificial fountains, with 
which the gardens through which we passed, 
were decorated. 

I did not find the Miss Cummingshalf so formi- 
dable as I had anticipated. They were certainly 
very elegant and accomplished girls, but they 
were frank and social, and entirely free from 
that affected reserve which puts to flight the 
power as well as desire of intimate acquaintance. 
There was a striking similarity in the features 
and expression of their faces, as is usually the 
case with twins, but one three days visit convin- 
ced me that their minds were dissimilar. Har- 
riet was one of earth's happiest creatures ; all 
imagination, kindness and light-heartedness. Un- 
addicted to deep and conclusive thought, but 
with a well stored memory, and a heart o'erflow- 
ing with pure and gentle affections. Helen, the 
least handsome of the two, (I quote public opinion.) 
was by no means a being of sorrow, but possessing 
a quicker penetration than her sister, and taking 
a deep interest in the happiness of all around her, 
whether known or unknown, the various scenes 
of hopeless misery which came so frequently under 
her observation, had given to her pale sweet 
face, young as it was, a tinge of that tender 
melancholy which seldom fails to affect an amiable 
and sensitive heart. Yet was she not deficient 
in the more shining qualities of the mind. She 
was gifted with a calni and winning dignity of 
manner, which ' every eye followed withbenisons,' 
and if she made fewer professions of attachment 
to her friends than many others, the strength of 
that attachment was never doubted by those that 
knew her. Such were the two sisters. The one 
resembling a wild cascade flinging out Us light 



6 

and beauty in glad murmurs to the laughing sun, the 
other a subterranean stream casting up no boister- 
ous waves, but hushing its low, sweet music in its 
own silver depths. 

I spent a most delightful day at Three Hills, 
and it may easily be guessed that my first visit 
was not my last. No, [ found too much conge- 
niality of taste and se-Rtiment to allow me to 
remain long a stranger or even casual visitor. I 
soon became a constant one. And do you wonder 
at this, dear reader ? Now without inquiring into 
your right to be indulged in such equivocal 
curiosity, I will frankly confess that I was opera- 
ted upon by twocauses, in my visits at Three Hills. 
In the first place, I was not long in discovering 
that the favor and approbation of the good 
Deacon, was equivalent to that of the whole 
religious world of Z. Of course, his good will 
was a matter of some importance. Secondly, I 
learned in a much less period, that one look of 
kindness from Helen, the beautiful dark eyed Hel- 
en, was sufficient to create a world of itself in my 
heart. The feelings of that heart I had long 
neglected to analyze. And when the reckoning 
did come, I was astonished to find so small a 
thing so very complicated. Its motions even to 
me, its owner, were perfectly mysterious. I had 
at the age of twenty-one, that most susceptible 
season, been thrown in the way of two very 
fascinating women, one of whom was a fair-haired 
daughter of my own native state, the other a 
converted Jewess, who was beautiful and talente^i 
as the Rebecca of Ivanhoe, but I escaped un- 
scathed. 

I afterwards boarded three years in the same 
house with a West India heiress, whose immense 



. 7 
wealth was considered the very least of her 
attractions, and who condescended to treat me 
with marked deference. I was still heart whole. 
My friends added, ' heart-hardened.' And I 
almost concurred in their opinions, when after 
listening to the wild warbling of Harriet Cuin- 
mings' voice at the piano, and drinking the light of 
her bewildering smile, I detected no answering 
tone among the harp-strings of feeling. But my 
hour came at last. The kneeling form of Helen 
at the hour of evening devotion, the tremulous 
earnestness of her dark blue eye, 

As through its raised and moistened lids 
It sought the spirit throne, 

Produced a sensation which convinced me the 
' star of my heaven' was revealed, and like 
Zoroaster, 1 bowed in 'rapt admiration before it. 

There is no denying it. Love is the universal 
talisman — the magician of all hearts. Its empire 
is human nature, and profession offers no bar to 
its despotic extravagancies. 

The acknowledgement of my affection for that 
gentle and high minded girl, was more like the 
confession of a despairing criminal, than the suit 
of a trusting lover. It partook neither of hope 
or fear, for of these I had not thought. It was 
simply an involuntary and unreserved out pouring 
of my souf's warm admiration, a releasing of 
pent-up sympathies, of wild and dream-like 
thoughts. : I asked, I expected nothing in return. 
But the generous being to whom 1 confided my 
heart's dearest secret, understood better the wish- 
es of that heart. She spoke not of love, but she 

acknowledged sincere regard, and and she 

consented to be mine. Oh the happy days of our 
betrothment ! Bear with me, dear reader, if I 



linger a moment in that sunniest spot of my ex- 
istence — that one green isle 'mid the turbulent 
waters of a long and wearisome life. The lovely 
Helen little suspected the depth of my idolatry. 
I would not have had her for worlds; she would 
have shrunk from me in terror. She knew not 
that her sweet image continually hovered between 
me and heaven ; that she was ever present to 
my mind in seasons of contemplation, and even 
prayer. She knew not that my increasing per- 
severance in pastoral duties was chiefly to gain 
favor in her sight, and that the pverpowering 
eloquence which gained me such bursts of ap- 
plause, was wrung from a heart more deeply con- 
secrated to her, than to that Divine Master whose 
name so often trembled on my lips. Such was 
the mad worship of my love, and bitterly, bitterly 
was I punished for disobeying the first and great 
commandment. 

Time passed on. Our sky was still unclouded. 
We strayed through the green fields of Three 
Hills with light and happy hearts. We lingered 
amid the melancholy beauties of the cottage grave 
yard. We bent together over the inspired 
pages' of holy writ. We mingled our voices in 
the vesper hymn, and at the altar of family de- 
votion. But the fall drew near, and Deacon 
Cummings thought it time to propose the renewal 
of a right spirit among the churches. T he- 
reader is sufficiently acquainted with the charac- 
ter of the Deacon, to anticipate the result. A 
revival was soon in operation in Z. and never did 
I know a greater excitement. Every visage- 
suddenly underwent a longitudinal extension; 
every mind seemed depressed. All labor was 
suspended; the children were- seen kneeling in 



groups in the corners of the streets, and the aged 
and the middle aged collected in praying circles 
with countenances which seemed to forebode some 
impending calamity. And a calamity was impen- 
ding. Harriet Cummings, unlike her sister, had 
ever resisted the influences of the holy spirit. 
Not that she could be Called really irreligious. 
The doctrines of the blessed Redeemer, the cer- 
emonies of his visible church, were sacred in her 
eyes, but, agreeable to her own admission, 
their beautifying principles were not, as with 
Helen, the streams from whence every thought, 
and word and action of her life issued. She had 
not 'given herself to God,' as the saying was in 
those-dayjs. She still loved the carnal allurements 
of the world better than.the things of the king- 
dom. She loved gay company. She loved the 
Theatre, and was often known to prefer a tete-a- 
tete with some of Sir Walter Scott's heroines in 
her own little room, to the sober salutations of 
pious sisters at the house of prayer. The Deacon 
often remonstrated, and with harshness, as was 
his manner, but it affected her not. Helen en-, 
treated and prayed. We both of us prayed for 
her, and with her. Still it availed nothing. For 
though she listened with the utmost sweetness 
to all we said to her; nay, would sometimes even 
weep at the anxiety we manifested for her eternal 
welfare, she nevertheless continued the same 
happy child of nature, until the revival of which t 
have" spoken, when a change suddenly became 
visible in her appearance. 

A preacher from a great distance, by the name 

of , conducted the meetings and he was the 

most powerful revivalist I ever knew. Harriet at- 
tended his meetings strictly. She soon became 

2s 



10 

thoughtful ; then melancholy; andwasatlast, car- 
ried home in a state of insanity. Two days and 
nights did Helen and myself watch by her bedside, 
and dreadful were the ravings to which we were 
obliged to listen. On the third clay towards even- 
ing, she became calm. She called us both to her. 
She spoke of her past life, as one of bitter rebellion ; 
one that deserved not forgiveness — ' and,' added 
she,' it will never obtain forgiveness. Do not weep 
Helen. Have you not always said we should be 
resigned. 1 am resigned. I have seen the great 
Book of Fate, my sister. Thy name was written 
among the blessed few who are chosen to minister 
through a long eternity at the throne of the Al- 
mighty, while mine was on the dark and blotted list 
of the damned ! Yes, we shall be separated, Helen, 
but do not weep so sadly now — save your tears 
till the day of Judgment, when the mighty King 
shall frown me down to the pit. I can bear them 
then, for my heart will be harder. But now [ 
must sleep. Leave me Helen, for my head is 
very heavy,' and she clasped her hands across her 
swollen eyes. We left the room. Helen went 
below to her father, while I thought it more 
prudent to remain in an adjoining chamber. I 
listened some time at the door, but could hear 
nothing save an occasional haif-breathed sigh, as 
of one in an uneasy slumber. I took a book and 
retired to a distant window. 1 had read through 
several pages, and quite forgotten my fears, when 
suddenly my ear was pierced by a low agonizing 
groan. To burst into the room, was but the work 
of an instant, but alas ! I was too late. That 
dreadful sound had been wrung out by the part- 
ing spirit. She had committed suicide ; how I 
cannot tell, for my senses even now, reel at the 



11 

horrid recollection. To describe the feelings of 
the family at this shocking occurrence, would of 
course be impossible. An almost idolized daugh- 
ter — a twin sister — the reader can imagine how 
the survivors were affected. 

The funeral was held in the large hall of the 
Deacon's own house, which was filled to over- 
flowing. The officiating clergyman was from a 
considerable distance, and though a stranger to 
me, I felt encouraged to hope, while gazing on 
his silver hairs, and time-dimmed eyes, that he 
had come prepared to speak peace to the bro- 
ken hearted. I was mistaken. It was too good 
an opportunity for a dreadful warning, to be left 
unimproved. The harrowing circumstances of 
the poor girl's death, were minutely and cal- 
lously detailed. Could he only have stopt here ! 
But no i She had died a hardened, impenitent 
sinner, despising, and despised of God. She 
had died by her own hands, and thereby pre- 
cluded even the possibility of salvation. And 
he quoted the oft ^repeated, though unscriptural 
text, ' No self murderer can enter into the king- 
dom of heaven.' [My very heart ached.] But 
even this was insufficient. lie pronounced the 
final doom of the wrathful Judge upon the lost 
spirit. He described the parting scene on the 
confines of the two worlds — :he pursued it to the 
very verge of its {laming, its eternal abode, and 

there he was interrupted by a wild and 

piercing shriek, and the next moment Helen 
Cummings was carried senseless out of the room. 

Oh how long, and La what agony did we hang 
o'er that pale and apparently lifeless victim. 
Our hopes waxed faint, and even the physician, 
(who was luckily in the house at the time,) began 



12 
to despair of restoring her, when suddenly, she 
astonished us all by springing like a frightened 
fawn from her bed. We were perfectly electri- 
fied. A single glance, however, at her distorted, 
features unraveled the mystery. She was mad. 
Her beautiful dark eyes sparkled with all the 
frenzied fury of a maniac — the white froth bub- 
bled on her lip, and her hands were both clenched 
in her soft brown tresses. 

Weeks, long, long weeks, went by, and the 
dread disease abated not. I seldom saw her. I 
could not bear to behold her delicate form writh- 
ing under restraint, though necessarily imposed. 
I could not listen to her piteous supplications for 
her sister's soul. But I could stay near her, I 
could pray for her, and for myself; aye, and I 
did pray, as it were, without ceasiug. Yet how 
impotent, how childish were those prayers ! ' Let 
her but give signs of returning consciousness, let 
me but hear one word, see one look of dawning 
reason, 'tis all I ask.' This was the burden of 
my midnight orisons. Alas ! £o little do we know 
the wishes of our own hearts. The spell, (for 
spell it seemed,) was at length, contrary to atl 
our expectations, broken. She was restored, Her 
lips played with their former sweet smile, her 
eye assumed its usual bland and beautiful expres- 
sion. But she could not speak or even lift a lin- 
ger, so completely was her strength wasted ; and 
death seemed stifl to. hover near her, unwilling to 
yield so fair a prize. The Physician ordered 
every room adjoining hers to be evacuated — 
every sound of labor to be suspended, for, said 
he, a word, even a breath may waft her hence. 
For three weeks not a human being, save himself 
and the nurse, were admitted. At the end 



of that time, she was- allowed to see her father, 
and afterwards, me. She wept like a little child 
when I entered the room, and I shame not to ac- 
knowledge, dear reader, that our tears were min- 
gled together. She spoke of her long illness, bnt 
made no allusion to the cause. She also avoided 
every thing relating to her deceased sister of 
which I was glad, for I dreaded the probable con- 
sequences to herself. 

' Yes, Frederick,' continued she, ' I have been 
very, very sick, and nurse says I was hardly my-' 
self some of the time. I remember mv head did 
feel strange, and I think I had some singular fan- 
cies. But I am so much better now. I have had 
a long time for reflection, Frederick, and though 
I have not been able to read, 1 have revolved in 
my mind many of the sweet and comforting sayings 
of our blessed book, and I hope it has bettered 
my heart. Oh ! I shall rejoice, when lam again 
permitted to read and listen to its sublime in- 
structions. And will you not read me a chapter 
now, Frederick r' ' Of course. Have you any 
choice ?' -' None, excepting, I think I should pre- 
fer something in the New Testament.' * Well, 
then, I will read wherever the book happens to 
open.' The leaves parted at the fifteenth chap- 
ter of first Corinthians. I read to the twenty- 
third verse, when she interrupted me with, ' ex- 
cuse me, Frederick, bur you must have miscalled 
one word. You said, Jls in Adam all die, even so 
in Christ shall alibe madealive. I prfesumeit reads, 
•'even so in Christ shall many be made alive." ' 
8 No, Helen, I read it right. It is all ' ' In- 
deed !' replied she musingly. ' Well, read on, 
perhaps it is somewhere explained.' • Is it not 
strange,' said she, when I had finished and laid by 



14 

the book, ' is it not strange that I have no recol- 
lection of ever reading that chapter? h is en- 
tirely new, and I think very interesting too. 
Does it not contain some new doctrines ? It 
speaks of a mystery that we shall all be changed 
after death. Do you suppose this possible?' 
* Why, yes, Helen, we shall undoubtedly appear 
at the ressurrection with bodies different from 
those we now possess.' * But does this change 
regard only the outward form ?- It says we shall 
be made alive in Christ; that this corrupti- 
ble shall put on incorruption ; that Christ is 
to rule until he has put all enemies under his 
feet ; and Death is called the last enemy, and 
that is to be swalioved up in victory. What 
can it al! mean !' I did not inform her what it 
meant, for the simple reason that I did not hap- 
pen to know myself; but I told her I presumed 
she could easily sntisfy herself in relation to it, 
when she was sufficiently recovered to investi- 
gate abstruse subjects, and here the matter dropt. 
I was soon after this, summoned home, (about, 
forty miles distant,) to see my father, whose 
demise was daily expected. He however recov- 
ered, though almost miraculously, and I was 
enabled to return in a couple of v\eeks, being 
much sooner than I anticipated. I found strange 
rumors afloat in Z. to which, as rumors, [ at first 
gave little heed. '1 he substance of them was, 
that Miss Cummings had become skeptical in 
regard to the main doctrines of the church, and 
that the matter was soon to be investigated in due 
form in council. I soon visited Three Hills. 
The Deacon, as was his custom, met me at the 
gate, but I saw at a glance, that all was not right. 
A settled gloom was on his brow partaking I 



15 
thought, however more of anger than sorrow; I 
hastened to inquire after the health of his daughter. 
The old man bit his lip. * Frederick Grey,' said 
he sternly, ' that perverse girl will be my undoing 
She will bring these gray hairs in sorrow to the 
grave. I thought when our poor Harriet was 
taken away, that my cup of bitterness was drain- 
ed ; but it was nothing to this, Frederick, it was 
nothiug to this.' 5 and to what, pray, can you 
allude ?' asked I, in a faltering voice, for his 
manner alarmed me, 'what can you possibly mean?' 
' To what do I allude ?' And have you not heard, 
do you not know, that Helen, our pious, our saint- 
ed Helen, has become a rank Universalist ?' 
'A Universalist P ejaculated I, scarcely able 
to articulate the word, ' God forbid — !' 'tis im- 
possible. She has never read their works ; she 
has never heard one preach, or even seen one. 
How then can it be? 'Tis impossible. — there isjsome 
mistake.' ■ No, Frederick, 'tis too true, for though" 
she does not plead guilty to the name, her senti- 
ments are precisely theirs. She talks of the 
promise made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob; of 
the fullness of the Gentiles ; of the whole world's 
remembering and turning to the Lord. She is 
a believer in that most abhorrent doctrine. Alas ! 
that I should live to know it.' 'And how, pray 
has this been brought about ? r 'Ah! that is the 
mystery. She says that a better acquaintance 
-with the character of the Divine Being, has con- 
vinced her of the unreasonableness of the doctrine 
of endless misery. And she draws arguments in 
support of her favorite theory, both from nature 
and Revelation ; only think, Frederick, from Rev- 
elation J And it seems as if she must be leagued 
with the prince of the power of the air, for she 



16 
has, by the aptness of her woman's tongue, put to 
flight three of our most enlightened brethren. 
To you alone, do I look for hope. You have 
some influence. Save her if possible, from this 
dreadful infatuation, this suggestion of the devil, 
and thereby wipe off the foulest blot that ever 
darkened the name of Cummings.' 

The unconscious subject of our .colloquy met 
me at the parlor door, with one of her sweetest 
smiles. ' I have been hoping all this afternoon, 
said she, that you might get back in time to help 
me to admire this splendid sunset. Just so it 
looked yesterday, but there was nobody to enjoy 
it with me, for Papa is quite abstracted lately, 
and seems to be losing his taste for our quiet 
scenery.' ' And Miss Cummings is resuming 
hers.' * Why, yes, I dbnt know but I am. The 
world certainly unfolds new beauties every day. 
The flowery fields look fairer, the sun brighter, 
and my heart feels light, and almost happy. For 

' 1 cannot go where Universal Love not smiles around.' 

« Helen,' i exclaimed, rather reproachfully, 
' from recent circumstances I should think your 
feelings would be of a very different nature.' ' I 
perfectly understand you,' replied she, her soft 
eves filling with tears, ' but I fear you do not me. 
When our dear Harriet died, I felt as if my \ery 
soul was halved. Oh! you know, Frederick, that 
my sorrow was greater than I could bear. But 
what added to the poignancy of that sorrow ? Was 
it not the thought that our separation was eternal ? 
That bitter cup, my brother, has been removed 
from me. The Lord hath shown me that we shall 
meet again in peace, when he shall gather togeth- 
er in one all things in Christ. And is it strange, 
that my poor heart should become buoyant at this 



17 
Sudden transition from despair to hope ?' • He!'- 
en,' said I, deeply agitated, ' you are certainly 
tampering with your soul's salvation. You are 
clinging to a wild and dangerous heresy— you are 
fastening in your soul a doctrine which takes 
away every salutary restraint from society and 
loosens the darkest passions of the human heart.' 
« Your accusations are very, vevy serious,' she 
replied, ' and they shall pot remain unnoticed. 
You say I am tampering with my soul's salvation. 
And is it doing this to place myself unreservedly 
in the handsof my Saviour"; to build my faith upon 
the immoveable Rock of ages? Is it a dangerous 
heresy to believe that the will of the Lord shall 
prosper in his hand, until he hasdone all his pleas- 
ure? That he will turn away ungodliness from 
Jacob? And that all the ends of the earth shall 
behold his salvation ? Is ft loosing the darkest 
passions of the human heart, to be convinced that 
the way of the transgressor is hard ? That his 
punishment is certain and immediate ? and that 
it is the goodness, and not the badness of God, 
which leacleth to repentance ? Believe me, Fred- 
erick, you have greatly mistaken the nature of the 
sentiments you so cruelly impeach. For they not 
only correspond with the plainest declarations ot 
scripture, but also with the holiest desires of the 
human heart. You bring this argument in support 
of Christianity, against Deism, that the Almighty 
has implanted in every heart an unconquerable 
thirst for immortality. Hence, if he is a God of 
goodness, that desire must be gratified. And may 
not this argument be extended ? Has he not also 
implanted in every breast a desire for the immor- 
tality of others ? Yea, for the happy immortality 
of the whole human race? And may we not on 

S : "s 



18 
the same grounds expect it ? While I was a Par-* 
tialist, (and 1 have been one many, alas, too many 
years,) I enjoyed many seasons of what I then 
thought devotional happiness. That happiness I 
now feel to have been but negative ; a miserable 
exemption fromjthe pangs ofacute suffering ; an oc- 
casional forgetting of the uncertainties of eternity, 
or a slight and scarce perceptible hope that the 
mercies of the Lord might at some far off |5eriod 
encircle the whole creation- Of how different a 
character is my present enjoyment The scales 
have fallen from my eyes. I know that mine 
and the world's Redeemer liveth. That he is 
good to all, and his tender mercies are over all 
his works. I have found the golden thread of 
promise. I have traced it in all its beautiful 
windings back to the ocean from whence it ema- 
nated, even the shoreless ocean of Almighty love, 
and no more do I doubt the final restitution of all 
things, than I do the truth of my own existence. 

Her father who had stood in the door, unper- 
eeived, during a great part of the conversation, 
now entered. His eye flashed lire. ' Helen,' 
said he, in a voice hoarse with conflicting emo- 
tions, ' Helen, you have pronounced your own 

doom, you have acknowledged yourself a 

a I will not pollute my lips with the ungodly 

name; but jou have pronounced your final doom. 
Henceforth you are to me a stranger. Prepare to 
depart, for as I hope for mercy, this house shall 
no longer be contaminated by one, (child though 
she be,) professing such damnable heresy. You 
shall go, Helen — aye, and pennyless too, a beggar 
like the rest of that miserable and deluded de- 
nomination.' ' Father ! father !' cried the trem- 
bling girl, flinging her arms wildly around his 



19 
neck, and bursting into tears, ' father, I would 
not leave you for worlds. Poor Harriet is gone, 
and who would be left to take care of you in your 
declining years? Who would nurse you in sick- 
ness? Who would k)ve and co'ri fort you like an 
only daughter? Oh! do not drive me from you. 
1 will submit to anv restriction. I will not be 
caiie 1 a Universalist, if the name is so disagree- 
able; I will onlv be called a Christian. But I 
cannot, dear father, I am sure I cannot, leave 
you ' • And will you give up your mad notions 
then?' inquired he, slightly relaxing his stern 
features at this strong evidence of filial attach- 
ment. ' Will you renounce the Christless doc- 
trine of free salvation?' ' Never! Hither,' she 
answered, drawing hastily back, and pressing her 
hand to her heart, * never will I do this ! I cannot 
be a hypocrite! I cannot deny the Lord who 
bought me! If z/iese are the conditions, then in- 
deed must we part, though my heart should break 
in the struggle. Father, I am ready for the 
sacrifice!' « Go, then, destroyer of my peace, 9 
exclaimed he, 'go as soon as may be, but remember, 
that the curse of an abused, and grey -haired father 
shall follow you to your grave? The old man 
left the room with measured steps, while Helen 
sank almost fainting to a seat. 

For a long time all was hushed in silence. — 
Neither of us spake, and but for an occasional 
deep-drawn sigh, apparently wrung from an ach- 
ing heart, I should have feared the wounded spirit 
had sought its native element — the skies^ But 
the oil was poured upon the troubled waters, and 
they were calm. She arose and sought me at the 
window, where the rays of the full moon were 
dispelling the gloom of twilight. ' Frederick,' 



20 
said she, in a voice of tender melancholy, « (here 
still remains one unsevered tie. It also must be 
broken, that I may be wedded alone to my Savior, 
Yet, may it not be rudely severed. Oh ! Freder- 
ick, I could not live to he#r a curse from your 
lips.' « And I, Helen — 1 should die in pronoun- 
cing- it. No, I cannot speak harshly to one so 
fondly loved, but I can pity you, and i do heartily. 
O ! is there no hand to pluck you as a brand from 
the burning? — Will neither arguments or en- 
treaties avail ? — Must you sacrifice every thing — 
your home, your friends, your reputation, and even 
your immortal soul to this wretched fantasy?' — 
f Frederick,' murmured she in a voice, low, and 
sweet as an angel, and taking my hand between 
her own, ' Frederick, do you see yon beauteous 
moon ? Its beams are gentle and subduing. 
They visit alike the sterile rock and fruitful field — 
they linger upon my hand as well as yours — there 
is no partiality. Such, dear brother, is the love 
of our Father above. It has no favorites — it is 
limitless as the blessed light of heaven. Like the 
sweet rains of spring, it falleth upon the just and 
upon the unjust, it encompasseth the whole earth. 
And call it not a fantasy, Frederick, that my heart 
should burn to proclaim that love. A flame is 
kindled on the altar of gratitude, it would flash 
out into the surrounding darkness, it would com- 
municate a portion of its light and warmth to the 
spirits of others. Frederick, my resolution is 
taken, irrevocably taken. I will foisake all things 
for Christ. I may effect little, but if I succeed 
by divine grace in releasing one soul from the 
bondage of that fear which hath torment— in 
speaking peace to one error-stricken heart, I shall 
feel that I have not lived in vain. But pardon 
me, I would now speak of different things. 



21 

* Our vows are registered in heaven, but our 
hands can never be united on earth. Frederick, 
you are free ! Yet look not thus reproachfully on 
me. You cannot surely doubt the sincerity of my 
attachment. Oh! you may doubt almost every 
thing, sooner than that. And now that we may 
never meet again this side of the grave, I will 
confess to you, what in its extent, no other cir- 
cumstances should ever wring from me. My love 
for you has been pure, and deep, as the fountain 
of life itself. It reared its altar in the very tem- 
ple of feeling ; it sent up its sacred fires through 
all seasons ; it mingled its glowing incense with 
every thought and hope of my being. Seldom, 
Oh ! Frederick Grey, seldom hath woman loved 
as I have loved. The sentiment is still strong at 
my heart. But stronger is the love of truth and 
a crucified Redeemer — we must part! Yet do 
not quite forget me, Frederick. Let the beautiful 
seasons of our past happiness and communion 
sometimes be present with you. And may the 
Lord bless you and give you that peace which 

passeth understanding farewell !' I could 

not speak — I could only press hei hand in silence 
to my lips, for my heart was crushed, and my 
spring-day hopes, like the seared and withered 
leaves of winter, lay quivering at my feet. I did 
not see her again, for receiving the next day an 
invitation to settle in one of the western states, 
1 immediately accepted it. 

Nine years passed away, dining which time I 
heard nothing from Helen Cummings, save that 
she had left her father, and that father had willed 
away her inheritance to a dissipated nephew. 
My own little history meanwhile was distinguish- 
ed by nothing remarkable save a change of senti- 



90. 



merit in regard to religion, and an installation as 
Pastor over a small but interesting Universalist 
societ} 7 in lieu of a flourishing Presbyterian church. 
Thischangein my views of the Divine character was 
produced by a variety of causes, though I always be- 
lieved the first good seed to have been sown by Hel- 
en Cummings. Business at length called me to the 
east, and as the city of Z. lay nearly in my route, 
I concluded to visit it, and exchange a friendly 
greeting with the friends of* Auld lang Syne.' 
It was early one bright spring afternoon that I 
|rfi;ew up my horse at the door of a small public 
house in the village of Sullivan, a little place 40 
miles west of Z. and which I very well remem- 
bered as being some years before the Diocese of a 
brother clergyman, who wrote me soon after his 
removal there, that the inhabitants were below 
all hope of reformation, and that he was about 
leaving them in despair. This recollection would 
probably have earned we directly through the 
village, but I saw what I took to be a funeral 
procession forming a short distance ahead, and 
concluded to wait till it was past. — I found no 
one within, except a very old lady who sat at the 
parlor window, watching the people as they came 
out of the church door, she arose at lvt.y entrance 
and politely offered me a seat which I accepted. 
1 observed that her eyes were red with weeping, 
by which I naturally conjectured the deceased to 
have been a near relation. The procession soon 
came by. It consisted of several hundred very 
-respectable looking persons, nearly half of whom 
were dressed in deep mourning. As the hearse 
passed, followed by several young woman whose 
forms were nearly shrouded by long black veils, 
the old lady buiied her face in her hands and 
burst into a passionate flood of tears, 



$A 



The deceased must have been very dear to 
you madam, i ventured to observe. ' Oh yes/ 
sobbed she * she was very, very dear to us all — 
dear as ourown lives. Could you but have known 
her, sir, so beautiful, so learned, so pipits I She 
came a stranger among us, eight or nine years 
ago. Oh! we were in a sad state then. Our 
minister who loved ns not, had just left us. — 
We had neither meetings or schools. Our young 
men were intemperate and profane; our youn-o - 
women ignorant, idle and mischievous, and our 
children ran like so many little savages about 
the streets. But she came like a ministering 
spirit among us, and the aspect of things chan- 
ged. She told us of therdear love of our Father 
in heaven, and her words were sweet as the 
manna in the wildernes. She taught a day- 
school and a Sabbath school. She encouraged 
reading meetings, until heaven should send us 
a good minister, and she planned sewing and 
other societies for the improvement of our youn°- 
ladies. We were soon a changed people. Eve- 
ry body loved the young School-mistress for her 
sweet face, and mild and affectionate disposition ; 
and the interest she took in all our little affairs, 
made us anxious to please her in return. Idle- 
ness and intemperance rapidly decreased. — Our 
children became obedient and refined, and none 
of our young men were hardy enough to indulge 
any longer in the disgusting sin of profanity. 
But alas ! she is gone, and never, never shall we 
look upon her like again. Yet does she speak to 
us — her last words are with us — they will never 
be forgotten. ■ Weep not for me, dear friends,' 
said the departing angel, ' weep not for me. I am 
only called a little before.— You will soon follow. 



24 

And we shall sing together the song of Moses 
and the Lamb in the dear presence of our " Fath- 
er and our God." ' 

' And pray, madam, said I, deeply affected 
with her singular narrative, ' pray what was the 
name of this extraordinary young person?' ' It 
was Helen Cummings.' 






f llu^t' 



; 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

iiiiJiiiiiliiiiii!IJii!!llilli!lli!llll!illilllllL 

015 871 633 1 W 



